


Single Parent ISO a Decent Gig

by Maggie_GoldenStar1530



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Single dad with weird freelance gig, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, parenting is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23018125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maggie_GoldenStar1530/pseuds/Maggie_GoldenStar1530
Summary: Din Djarin used to be a Lone Hunter, feared in the sector. Now he has a baby carrier and pockets full of crispy snacks.A stop with the baby with Greef Karga, just trying to make a living. Children are TYRANTS.Fluffy AF.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 174





	Single Parent ISO a Decent Gig

Din would have preferred to not bring the Kid in with him to discuss potential jobs with Karga. He would have preferred to maintain the image of the Lone Hunter, striding into the common house bristling with weapons and a mysterious aura. Normally, he would have left the Kid with Cara, or on the off chance he was asleep, just secure him on the Razor Crest. 

But Cara was off planet for some reason, and the Kid had just had a nap. And, to make matters even worse, he was in a “get into everything all the time” phase, so leaving him on the ship was a recipe for Utter Disaster. 

So instead he was a Beleaguered Single Father, not only laden with the Kid but also a bag filled to overflowing with toys, snacks, and clean clothes. And the Kid refused to be carried, or ride in the carrier, or a sling, or the weird pouch thing that strapped onto his front or back that he’d picked up somewhere. It had seemed like a good buy, because the Kid rode happily in it the rest of the day. 

And he had refused to even consider it ever since. Twenty credits down the drain, due to the whims of a child a foot and a half tall. 

So they walked, slowly, until the Kid got distracted for the eighth time in twenty feet and Din scooped him up, thankful that his helmet hid his  _ utter embarassment  _ at having the Kid shriek loud enough to be heard in the Core worlds. The Kid continued to shirek his anger at not being able to walk all the way to the common house, through the door, and through the crowd.

Every other patron stopped and stared. And continued to stare as Din sat down at Karga’s table, and pulled out a coloring book and markers. And a stuffed loth cat. And a wooden frog. And a teething ring. Omera had suggested it, but the Kid’s teeth were so goddamn sharp that he’d go through one a week. If he didn’t have the option of one, though, he’d scream and pout.

Kids were expensive little tyrants. 

Karga, for his part, was deeply amused by this whole turn of events. He didn’t even try to hide it. Not even a little. No, Karga would give the Kid more toys, and more sweets. Karga, damn his eyes, would hop the Kid up on sugar and hand back an overtired, oversugared, utterly spoiled Kid and say good luck and good hunting and go count his fucking money. 

Even Cara was a better babysitter. She at least would make sure he got a  _ nap. _

The Kid turned his attention to his coloring, and Din allowed himself a small sigh of relief. They could get this done quickly. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask. 

_ Surely. _

Karga ordered the Kid some milk, and was in the middle of his unavoidable small talk when Din realized that the milk was no longer white, but had swirls of color in it. 

Because the Kid had dunked his markers in the milk. 

“We do not drink the markers.” Din took the tainted milk away. The Kid pouted, and glared mutinously at his father. He very deliberately started to color on his book, and as soon as Din and Karga were focused on their conversation, the Kid slid his marker off the page and on to the table. He had made a pretty good solid scribble going before anyone noticed, and when Din said no and moved the marker back to the coloring book, the Kid stared at him fixedly and drew on the table again. 

Din took away the markers. 

The Kid squawked in irritation. 

Din gave back the markers. “Not on the table. In the  _ book. _ ”

The Kid started coloring in his book again. 

Din and Karga went back to discussing the various pucks again, and the Kid dropped a marker on the floor. Din automatically reached down and picked it up. The Kid looked at him, then at his markers, then back at Din speculatively. How many times could he do this?

The answer was five, before Din stopped picking them up. The Kid waited, and when no markers were being returned to him, he started to levitate them back to the table himself, each time stopping to see if Din noticed. Din got annoyed and a little concerned about drawing attention to this display, and took away all the markers. He gave the Kid some jerky to chew on. That’ll keep him busy for a little while, right?

No.

Before long, the Kid made an urgent noise. 

“Now? Can’t you hold it?”

Another urgent noise, and a frantic look that promised Imminent Unpleasantness if Things were Not Addressed Right Away. 

Din didn’t even keep his sigh to himself this time. “Excuse us.” He picked up the Kid, and headed for the Refresher. They were halfway there when Din stopped, looked at the Kid, sighed heavily again, turned back, and fished out a change of clothes from the bag. 

The Kid looked a lot more comfortable and utterly unrepentant. 

While Din was addressing the Recent Unpleasantness, Karga ordered some sweets to be wrapped up to go. What was the point of being the Kid’s favorite uncle if he didn’t?

Once the Kid was cleaned, changed, and, hopefully, settled for the moment, Din again tried to return to the business at hand, but the Kid saw the sweets and started demanding them. Loudly. Angrily.

Din sighed again, a bone deep weariness, and took three pucks at random. “Should have just done this from the start.” He packed up the Kid’s stuff while Karga tried (and failed) not to laugh. 

The Kid deigned to be carried back to the Razor Crest, happily riding on Din’s hip. He cheerfully sat in his seat, and sunnily chewed on his teething ring.

Din look at his son and shook his head. “You’re impossible, you little womp rat. Just. Impossible.” 

The Kid cooed and smiled, and Din smiled back.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way.” 


End file.
